Poem about life |
Bliss of the withered sand Amidst the withered sand, I walk My tongue, long been dry as chalk. A figure, cloaked in black on my heel, An endless horizon ahead, I do feel. In these withered sands of fear and pain A sense of belongingness I now gain. For what is life without trial? Death without hope? A land of fools ripe with guile. A husk, fallen far down a slippery slope. To void one is to lose the other; to hold both is to be torn asunder. At the end of my day, I shall hear its call; a final beckon before my fall. In this cursed land, my life's been spent but in the end, I am content. |